by K. L. Savage
“First off, mayonnaise is gross. You’ll never see me with it.”
Princess deadpans him with a ‘I don’t give it a shit’ kind of look.
“Right, which isn’t the point. Sorry, continue.” One bows, forgetting he has the burger in his hand and a pickle drops on the mousepad. “Oops.”
“I swear if you don’t get away from me, I’m going to deep fry you and feed you to the coyotes.”
I chuckle around the beer bottle and smile when I see One sliding down the counter, making faces at Princess.
Princess flicks the pickle at One and sighs in annoyance as he cleans off his mousepad. “Anyway,” he eyes One, “I think Kenneth saw Charlie as a way inside to take down her father’s company, by doing it slowly, draining the Fletcher’s dry as he siphons money, and using Charlie to do it. The link? Kenneth’s dad dated Charlie’s mom way back when but left him for Charlie’s dad. I guess he isn’t taking the rejection well. The family is a nutcase. Charlie is stuck between a rock and a hard place, but here is the kicker, she doesn’t have to be.” He stretches back on the counter and twists his neck from left to right until it pops. “The marriage license One pulled up to show you? Not real. Kenneth and his father have a few cops and government workers under their belts. You scratch their back, they will scratch yours, kind of thing.”
“What do you mean it isn’t real?” I straighten.
He turns the laptop toward me and shows me a marriage license. “See anything?”
“There’s no mark, but who cares?”
“Dude, her name is spelled wrong. Her birthdate is wrong. Kenneth never wanted to marry her, just to control her. That’s probably why he never fought her on keeping her last name. He isn’t faithful to her. He fucks like three women in his office. She’s just there for him to do whatever he wants with.”
“She isn’t married?”
He shakes his head. “She isn’t married. She’s never been married. She’s been lied to this entire time. Used and manipulated.”
“That changes everything.”
“I thought you might say that. There’s one other thing.” Princess sounds unsure as he taps the shot glass against the countertop creating a nerve-grinding clink.
“What?”
“She doesn’t know this, but two years ago she was hospitalized because he beat her to the point where she needed a doctor. She was pregnant. It was too early for her to know. She thought she was just bleeding from the damage done and he convinced her of that. I had to break into her sealed medical file.”
“He lied to her about that?” I feel sick. She deserves to know. She deserves so much more than this.
“He paid off the doctor to lie. Fifty grand. I have proof of payment.”
“Her agony stops now. She will never have to hurt again. Ever.” I’m going to save her, kill Kenneth, his father, and then I’m going after that doctor.
No one hurts my Cupcake.
Not without hearing my whistle.
I stare at the building in front of me and grip the steering wheel. My hands are sweating as the tinted windows shine against the sun. I can’t see inside. The bright gold letters above the door spells ‘Pawn Shop’ but the S isn’t glowing so it really just says ‘Pawn Hop.’
This is where people buy guns, right? I need a gun.
I slap down the visor and flip the cover of the mirror up to get a decent look at myself. I touch the red bruise around my neck. I can’t believe I forgot the scarf to hide the mark. I can’t lie about how I got this. It’s obvious. I can see where each finger gripped my neck. Maybe I can say it was because of a mugging?
Again.
But not anymore.
I’m done.
I put on my oversized sunglasses just in case someone notices me and run inside the shop. The bell rings as I open the door and the first thing I smell is cigarette smoke. The carpet is old, torn, and stained. The glass cases holding the jewelry are dirty with handprints and dust. There’s a man in the back of the room with a big belly and long hair that's thin on the top and thick on the sides. I can see the crown of his head.
His eyes flicker to me and I take off my sunglasses, setting them on top of my head. “You’re in the wrong place,” he grunts, flipping the page of the newspaper while flicking the ashes off his cigarette. He must sit there all the time because there are small burn spots in the carpet around him.
“No, I’m in the right place. I was hoping you could help me.” I swallow when I become nervous. My entire body flushes and my stomach turns with nausea. I’m not sure if I have the guts to do this, but it is a step in the right direction.
“Well? I don’t have all day,” he gripes.
I look around the empty shop and nod slowly. “You’re obviously a very busy man. I need a gun.” My voice croaks, and he has the audacity to laugh causing his beer gut to shake. “I need a gun,” I repeat, straightening my spine and putting more confidence into my words.
He sets his paper down on the counter and eyes me up and down. “Alright, sweetie—”
“—Don’t know call me that. I am not your sweetie,” I snap. No one better call me that damn pet name again.
He lifts his hands in the air and sucks his tongue over his teeth. “Yes ma’am. What kind of gun are you looking for?”
“Um—” shit. I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead. I just need one that shoots. “One that won’t be traced.” Oh, yeah. That’s good. “And quiet,” I add with a smile. I’d hate for anyone to hear the gunshot.
“Listen, swee—”
I cut him off with a glare.
He licks his lips and presses his elbows against the counter. “You realize all guns make noise unless you buy a silencer.”
“Okay. So I’ll get one of those too,” I say.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking about doing.” His eyes fall to my neck. “But I think you need something more compact and lightweight. It will be easier for you to protect yourself.” He walks around the counter, his fingers skimming across the top of the glass. “I just got this in the other day. Smith & Wesson 642 Airweight. It’s small. Perfect for your purse. I’ll give it to you for $800 and throw in a box of ammo.”
He hands it over to me, and I gasp when I feel it in my hand. I’ve never held a gun before. I quiver as I maneuver the handle into my right hand and aim the barrel toward the opposite wall. It does feel really good, solid, and lightweight like he said. I feel…powerful. I finally have something that is mine, something that I can protect myself with.
And from.
Kenneth is a dead man if he ever touches me again.
“I’ll take it.” I shove the gun in my purse along with the ammunition I need.
I slide the money across the glass, leaving a clean streak behind. The film on these cases is disgusting.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” He sits down on the stool and lights another cigarette.
I leave and my purse is almost the same weight as it was when I entered, but there is now a comforting weight in it. I let out a breath as I get into the truck and set my purse down in the passenger seat.
I can’t believe I did this. What am I going to do? Go home and pull the trigger and then cook dinner for myself?
Tears well and I’m not able to stop them from falling. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to give in to my emotions. I’m so sick of holding them back. It’s okay for me to be exhausted and tired of fighting.
I press my forehead against the wheel and sob, shoulders shaking, chest aching, soul shredding kind of wails.
Is it possible for bones to be tired?
The leather of the steering wheel is hot against my cheek as I turn my head and stare at my purse.
It’s a loaded gun, literally.
“Okay, you’ve had your pity party. No more,” I say as I stare at myself in the rearview mirror. My mascara is running down my cheeks in black streaks. I reach over the middle seat and open the glove compartment. I always keep extra napki
ns in there.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” I clean off the mascara and wipe under my eyes where the black liquid is smudged the most. “Everything will be fine soon, Charlie. You’re going to do this.” I dab under my eyelash line and catch the lingering tears. “No more pain, no more hurt, no more hits, no more of anything.” I toss the black-spotted napkin on the floorboard and throw the truck into reverse.
My phone blasts and from the ringtone I can tell it’s Kenneth.
Fuck him.
The tires squeal as I take a right and head home. My nails dig into the leather of the steering wheel, and I chew on the flesh of my bottom lip until it bleeds. Anxiety pinches my stomach and not even the air conditioning is helping with the sweat gathering on my forehead.
I lean my elbow on the door and hold my chin with my palm. A traffic light comes into view and the green light quickly turns to yellow, then red, but I don’t care.
I run it.
A car blares its horn at me, but I ignore them, my vision becoming blurry as tears form again. I hate myself for being so emotional.
It’s hard not to be when I think back and remember my dreams as a little girl. I had a binder full of wedding ideas and dresses. I had the names of my kids picked out. I dreamed of a small wedding by a crystal-clear lake surrounded by mountains and desert. There is a place not too far away from here actually.
Instead, I got married at the courthouse. Kenneth said he would take care of everything, and I was a fool to let go of all my wants for him.
I wish I could turn back time.
Life isn’t a time machine. It’s impossible to go back.
But I can go forward.
I run another light, but this time there are no cars around to threaten an accident. I don’t even care. Hit me. Run me over. Smash into me.
Stop me from doing the unthinkable.
The song on the radio has changed five times before I find myself parking near the water by Lake Mead, the place I’d love to get married one day. Well, in my dreams I suppose.
I snag my purse and get out of the car, not bothering to close the door.
The evening is so beautiful. The stars are starting to peek out and a crescent moon is hinting through the sky to the left. I use the tire to climb onto the hood of the truck and sit there, looking out toward the blue water. It’s still. Calm. Smooth. It reminds me of glass, but I know one rock will disrupt the solace. The water will ripple.
Just like me, only I’m an ocean in the middle of a hurricane. I don’t have ripples. I have waves crashing inside me, angry and confused. I don’t know how to settle.
I let the storm take and control me.
Not anymore.
I think of my dad and I know he’ll be sad, but he’ll be fine in time. No one else will miss me. I don’t have friends. Kenneth made sure of that. He has isolated me from everyone and everything.
And I can’t do this anymore.
I hate him so much, but I couldn’t live with myself if I killed a man.
So what’s the difference in killing myself now instead?
I unzip my purse and grab my new gun. I wrap my fingers around the handle, but the grip is weak. I’m trembling.
I won’t see tomorrow.
Why does that feel so good? It’s…relief.
My purse tumbles off the hood and the contents spill on the ground along with the bullets. My phone cracks across the screen as it lights up. Kenneth’s name appears between the webs, and I ignore him again and use two fingers to pick up a cold, sleek bullet.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to load a gun, but it does take me a minute to figure out how to slide the bullet into the cylinder and spin it.
Another tear drops, and I debate if I really want to do this. But I don’t have a choice, he’ll find me. He’ll always find me and bring me home. He’ll lock me away. I don’t want to be beaten anymore. I don’t want to lie to doctors. I don’t want to bleed out of every hole I have.
I’m done.
I cock the gun and the cylinder turns until it clicks into place.
Pressing the gun against my temple, I take a deep breath in and out.
No tears.
No fear.
Just peace.
I pull the trigger. Nothing happens because there is only one bullet. That’s alright. I’ll just keep going until I find it.
I turn the cylinder again and press the cold barrel against my head.
Click.
“Charlie. Cupcake. Put down the gun.”
I shake my head, dislodging another tear. I spin the cylinder again. I didn’t even hear him approach. I’m too lost in my own thoughts.
Click.
“Come on!” I yell as I turn the cylinder again.
“Charlie, Cupcake, don’t do it.”
Click.
The last one has to be the one. There are only five chambers.
“Cupcake please don’t,” he begs.
“I have to!” I yell at Whistler and my voice echoes over the lake. “I have to. It’s the only way to be free of him. I need to do it!” A string of spit drips from my bottom lip as I scream. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m so tired.”
“Oh, Cupcake. I know you are. I can only imagine, but you aren’t alone in this fight. You don’t have to struggle alone. You don’t have to struggle at all. I’m here.”
He takes a step forward, and I lift my arm to press the barrel harder against my temple. “Don’t take another step, Whistler. I’m not fucking around,” I warn.
“Okay. Okay,” he chokes, and I swear there is a sheen in his eyes as he stares at me. “I won’t move another muscle. Please, put the gun down.”
“You don’t understand.” The words are guttural as they leave me, the pain of losing who I am, the pain of losing my young adult life, the pain of being weak just ripping out of me. “You don’t get it!”
“Help me understand, Cupcake. What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”
“It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me, Cupcake. Give me that chance.”
I think about it, but a better thought comes to mind which has me narrowing my eyes at him. “How did you know I’d be here?”
“I won’t lie to you. I installed a tracking device on your truck the last time I watched your house. I need to know you’re safe. I didn’t care if that meant you would hate me when you found out. When I saw you coming here, I knew something was wrong.”
I aim the gun at him next, then me, then him. Fuck. I don’t know what to do. “You shouldn’t have come here.” I settle with keeping the gun against my head.
“I’ll always come to you, Charlie.”
“Please, go,” I cry, wanting to be alone. I can’t do this with someone watching.
“I’m not leaving you. I’m never going to leave you alone.”
“I am alone!” I shout as loud as I can. “I’ve been alone. I’m done. I’d rather die than live another day with him. I can’t take it. You were right, okay? Does that make you happy? He beats the living hell out of me, Whistler. He chokes me. He locks me in a bedroom when I’m not good. That’s where I was for two weeks. I wasn’t sick. I was in trouble. I’m done.” I rub the ache in my chest and whisper, “I’ve been done for a while now.”
I bet a man like Whistler loves to be right. Well, he wins.
I’m another statistic, but you know what?
I’d rather die on my own terms than let Kenneth or anyone decide for me.
I’m shaking in my fucking boots right now. Christ, when I saw the GPS tell me she was coming out here, I instantly had a bad feeling. Something wasn’t right and without explanation, I left in the middle of our first Church meeting without saying a damn word to anyone. It isn’t their business.
This is between me and Cupcake.
“You’re wrong. I’m not happy. Not for one second am I happy that you are in pain, that you are unhappy, that you are miserable, that you are not safe. Nothing abo
ut this makes me happy.” I risk taking a small step forward when she isn’t looking. “If you do this, you’re leaving behind people that will care about you, that will miss you. What about your dad?”
“He will be fine. It’s my fault the company is failing. Kenneth wants money and he threatens dad’s life. I have to do it. I have to keep dad safe, you know?”
I nod. “I do know. I understand that.” I press my hand against my chest. “I do the same for my sister. I bet you and her would get along. You’re a lot alike. And it isn’t your fault. Kenneth is threatening you and of course, you do as he says.”
“No one else will miss me. I don’t have anyone.” She lifts her elbow again and straightens the gun so it is at a right angle. Her blue eyes are endless pools of pain and I want nothing more than to be able to soak it up.
I hold back the panic gripping me from the inside. “You have me,” I admit. “Damn it, Cupcake, you’ve had me in your clutches since the moment I saw you. I’d miss you. You’ve wrapped yourself around my heart somehow. You want me to get on my knees and beg for you to drop the gun?” My knees hit the ground quicker than I can take a breath. The ground is hard, but it’s nothing compared to what I’ll feel if she pulls the trigger.
There’s one more chamber, one more pull of that trigger and I’ll lose my future. I know that’s what she is to me, and even if she never wants to be with me, knowing she is alive is all I’ll need.
“I’ll miss you, Cupcake.”
“You’re just saying that because you have to.”
“I never have to do anything,” I state with a hard edge. “I never say something I don’t mean, so I’m going to say this, you do this, you pull the trigger, and he wins, Charlie. He wins. You give him what he wants. Don’t. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
Her hand shakes and her bottom lip quivers. “I didn’t think about it like that. I’m so scared, Whistler,” she admits. “I’m afraid of the world. “
“Are you afraid of me?”
“I should be, but something tells me not to be.”
“Good, then I’ll take on the world for you and you’ll never have to be afraid again,” I say, watching the indecision change the expressions on her face.